I heard most of this through a lifted corner of the tarpaulin, under which I had the good luck to secrete myself without observation and without difficulty. In the same manner I became witness to the admirable air of indifference with which Biddy was mixing herself a cup of coffee as the watchman approached. I say _mixing_ advisedly, for as he came up she was conspicuously pouring some of the contents of the stone bottle into her cup. Whether this drew the watchman's attention in an unusual degree, of course I do not know, but he stopped to say, "Good-evening, Biddy." "Good-evening to ye, me dear, and a nasty damp evening it is." "You're taking something to keep the damp out, I see, missus." "I am, dear; but it's not for a foine milithrary-looking man like yourself to be having the laugh at a poor old craythur with nothin' but the wind and weather in her bones." "The wind and weather get into my bones, I can tell you," said the watchman; "and I begin my work in the fog just when you're getting out of it." "And that's thrue, worse luck. Take a dhrop of coffee, allanna, before I lave ye." "No, thank ye, missus; I've just had my supper." "And would that privint ye from takin' the cup I'd be offering ye, wid a taste of somethin' in it against the damps, barrin' the bottle was empty?" "Well, I'm not particular--as you are so pressing. Thank ye, mum; here's your good health." I heard the watchman say this, though at the moment I dared not peep, and then I heard him cough. "My sakes, Biddy, you make your--coffee--strong." "Strong, darlin'? It's pure, ye mane. It's the rale craythur, that, and bedad! there's a dhrop or two left that's not worth the removing, and we'll share it anyhow. Here's to them that's far--r away." "Thank you, thank you, woman." "Thim that's _near_, and thim that's far away!" said Biddy, improving upon her toast. There was a pause. I could hear the old woman packing up her traps, and then the man (upon whom the coffee and whisky seemed to produce a roughening rather than a soothing effect) said coarsely, "You're a rum lot, you Irish!" "We are, dear," replied Biddy, blandly; "and that's why we'd be comin' all the way to Lancashire for the improvement of our manners." And she threw the sacking round her neck, and lifted the handles of her barrow. "Good-night, me darlin'!" said she, raising her voice as she moved off. "_We'll meet again_, GOD willing." "Safe enough, unless you tumble into the dock," replied the watchman. "Go steady, missus. I hope you'll get safe home with that barra o' yours." "GOD send all safe home that's far from it!" shouted Biddy, in tones that rose above the rumbling of the wheel and the shuffling of her shoes. "Haw! haw!" laughed the watchman, and with increased brutalness in his voice he reiterated, "You're a rum lot, Biddy! and free of most things, blessings and all."